


Trembling with Tenderness

by WineGum (ZombieGiraffes)



Series: Hollow [2]
Category: Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Evolution, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieGiraffes/pseuds/WineGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Program! What is your function?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trembling with Tenderness

Breath in. Breath out.

“What is your function?”

Breath in. Breath out. No response.

“Program! What is your function?”

Breath in. It hurts. Breath out.

“Rinzler.”

Breath- his face hits the floor, pressure on his neck. There’s a crack running up his cheekbone already, the pressure splits it open, it runs down to his jaw, up to his eye, he blinks as his vision fractures. Can’t breath in, his chest tight.

“What. Is. Your. Function?”

Teeth gritted, dragging in a breath. “System monitor.”

Hands in his hair, face pulled back. Slammed forward. His left optical input goes black, the crack widens, spills over with weak light. The pain is nothing to what he feels when something strange, dark and foreign is forced into his code.

Breath in. Breath in. Breath in. He strains against the grip in his hair, a high whine escapes him, answered by a low laugh and a deep rumbling sound that seems almost pleased.

“Please, Tron.” He breaths out, fingers scraping uselessly against the slick, shiny floor.

The low laugh again, mocking. His code flares again, he breaths in sharply with the pain.

“No-one by that name here.”

Weaker now, pleading, desperate, he whispers out “Tron,”.

No response but the tightening of fingers around his neck, a low rumbling purr.

Breath in. Breath out. Slowly. He tries again “Rinzler, please.” The fingers loosen, help him up to his knees. The fingers drop from his neck, brush slow, almost tender across the node at his shoulder. His code shifts, he doesn’t fight it.

He sobs out a breath.

“What is your function?”

Breath in. Eyes screwed shut. “To serve Clu.”

“Good. We’re getting somewhere.”

Breath out.


End file.
